


(expecting perfect scripts and movie scenes)

by soundingawkward



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Compulsory Sexuality, Gen, Internalised aceophobia, M/M, Mentions of previous dubious consent, asexual!Nick, gray-asexual!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2695004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingawkward/pseuds/soundingawkward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"it's not just that nick didn't know.<br/>it's just that nick didn't know. or that there was a word for it, a label to help give yourself identity and a feeling of belonging." </p><p>(or the one where nick discovers there are other definitions for his sexuality and louis is there for him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(expecting perfect scripts and movie scenes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wearestarshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearestarshine/gifts).



> a part of the /tagged/tomlinshaw ficathon. my tagged tomlinshaw post was ["we look at each other like we're about to kiss"](http://thorstons.tumblr.com/post/98718660999) title of the fic is from [hate to see your heart break](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppo471bYlIQ) by paramore. the playlist associated with the fic is [(and i want a moment to be real)](http://8tracks.com/nicktomlinshaw/and-i-want-a-moment-to-be-real). 
> 
> an absolutely huge thank you to [namra](http://wearestarshine.tumblr.com) for encouragement, a second pair of eyes and help with wording. without you, this wouldn't exist. thank you very much. (any mistakes are my own, apologises if they exist.) 
> 
> the article mentioned is can nick grimshaw save radio 1?. i am still learning and trying to understand asexuality, so if i say anything that's wrong/offensive please tell me and i will correct my mistake. furthermore, the lack of capitalisation is a stylistic choice made for the feel and flow of the writing.
> 
>  **please note** there is a scene that deals with the discussion of compulsory sexuality and mentions characters having previously had sex without knowing no is an option/believing they have to have sex to be normal. warnings for dubious consent/coercive sex mentions and internalised aceophobia.

(3:04 PM  thursday)

it’s not that nick didn’t know.

 

it’s just that, well nick didn’t know. or that there was a word for it, a label to help give yourself identity and a feeling of belonging. he hadn’t known that it wasn’t just him being _broken._

 

harry’s eyes are wide and sort of encouraging, eyebrows raised slightly and expression comforting. he’s fidgety, hands fussing along the edge of the dining table and nick can hear the click of his heeled boots against the hardwood floor. it’s ridiculous, really. how he radiates with a careful positivity, an edge of hopefulness wrinkling the corners of his mouth as if he thinks an epiphany will strike nick down any second nzow.

 

“are you, like _sure_ that ase– it’s a thing?” nick’s not sure he’s ready to use the word, not yet. he might get attached to the way it sounds in his mouth, might like the way it fits only to have it stripped away from him.

“yeah, it’s totally a thing,” harry beams, almost bouncing in his seat at nick’s tentative question like it’s admission of how helpful he is, “isn’t that right lou?” he adds on, raising his voice to be heard in the living room.

 

“yah what?” louis calls back, not even looking up from his phone. his fingers dart lazily over the screen, and his feet are up on nick’s coffee table, even though nick’s already scolded him for it and dangerously close the half full beer bottle he’d helped himself to.  

“that asexuality is a legitimate orientation,” harry’s voice skips across several octaves in what nick supposes has some kind of meaning as louis looks up and shoots harry a look.

“absolutely,” he says, his focus turning to nick and his expression softens. for a moment, nick’s ready to bark he doesn’t want any pity, but not a single drop of it can be seen.

 

there’s empathy, a little begrudging fondness and just a smidge of knowing, but no pity. he doesn’t pity nick, not one little bit and all the tension, all the worry and all the heaviness associated with the memories of “just wait until you meet the right person,” or “you’ve just had bad experiences with sex,” drains away. louis puts his phone in his pocket, standing up with concern wrinkling his brow. it’s still not pity, and nick feels lightheaded, buoyant almost. the first sob doesn’t really sound like he’s crying.

 

“lou’s gray-ace,” harry’s saying, explaining wildly with his hands, “which is like, a part of the asexuality spectrum, and sort of asexual but not quite y’know? i’ve got like, some information and stuff if you wanted to look up and...”

“haz.” louis rests a hand on harry’s shoulder as he goes past, squeezing it gently and hovers in front of nick, hands reaching out but not settling anywhere.

 

“is it okay if i hug you?” louis’ voice is a whisper and he’s blurry, just a fuzz of colours and soft words. nick can’t manage a spoken response, but louis’ is gripping him tight the second he gives a fumbling nod.

 

“grimmy?” harry’s voice cracks on the vowel, wood screeches against wood as harry tries to stand up and push his chair away at the same time. it almost echoes, bouncing around in the space not taken up the awful-sounding dry hacking sobs nick’s not even sure are actually rattling up his lungs. he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even really understand why he’s reacting this way.

 

“it’s just a lot haz,” louis says, he’s as firm as his voice is steady, and he lets nick grip so harsh it’s probably stretching his shirt out of form, “it’s a lot. it rattles you.”

 

and nick wants to sit up, take a deep breath and demuand he’s perfectly fine. feels like he should be the calmness harry was radiating or the strength within louis’ frame but his legs are jelly and he might faint if he doesn’t have something to hold onto. his pulse feels wild, jumping up out of skin and weakly beating at him to get out.

 

“harry, can you make us some tea?” the words rumble out of louis’ chest and nick feels his lips curl up into the beginnings of a smile. of course louis thinks tea can solve everything.

“two sugars please,” he manages, and louis chokes out a stuttered laugh.

“sugar, really? what a way to ruin perfectly good tea.” louis chides, but his hands are pressed flat to nick’s back like he’s trying to hold as much of nick together as he can.

 

nick feels shaky. louis’ expensive cologne is soft, a sort of musky undertone and it feels settling as nick breathes it in. the kettle bubbles and boils, rumbling away as harry’s boots skitter across the kitchen floor. louis rubs at nick’s back, soft at first but it turns rigorous and nick finds out he can hold himself up when louis leans back to look at him.

 

“there,” louis says, smile curling one side of his mouth up as he gently knocks his fist against nick’s jaw, “you look less like freshly pressed linen now.”

 

“tea’s ready!” harry calls out as nick splutters. louis smiles properly, sunny and warm, and ruffles nick’s hair as he shifts around nick’s chair to sit down. harry dumps a tray full of cups and sugar and milk jugs on the table.

 

louis pulls his chair so close to nick’s that their knees knock has harry pours tea into cups that nick didn’t even know he had. proper china they are, flowery and all. his mum probably gave them to him, housewarming or something. his fingers don’t seem to want to settle, skittering over his cup and the rim knocks against his lips as he tries to sip at his tea. it’s quiet, and louis elbows nick gently, nodding towards harry when nick looks up at him.

 

“i’m sorry,” harry says after a minute of staring into his own cup wistfully, he looks up with eyes shining, “i didn’t mean to like, load you all up with all that? i just, i wanted to help. i didn’t think it through really.”

“haz,” nick says and his hands are still shaky, but he feels firmer now, less like jelly, “i’d love to see whatever information you’ve got.”

 

harry downright _beams._ he looks like he might pull a folder full of pamphlets out of thin air like he’s the poster boy for the defining your sexuality fairy’s recruits. he snakes his phone out of his pocket and goes on and on and on about websites and pdfs and sips at his tea as he waves his phone around. louis only chips in to pause on things he says are important, shoulder pressing against nick’s as he leans in to point.

  


(9:27 AM tuesday)

the joke is meant to be harmless. it’s run of the mill, borderline ma-15+. like most jokes they make on the breakfast show are, and it’s not even like nick hadn’t agreed or joined in. it’s just –

 

it’s just that it feels different now.

 

like because he’s got a word and a meaning and a promise of _you’re real_ or _this is real_ and _it’s okay to feel like this_ he doesn’t want to play the part of what he’s always expected to be now. he’s not sure he wants to be thrown in random sexual-based hypothetical situations now he knows he doesn’t need to be, if he doesn’t want to. maybe later, maybe when he’s comfortable. but not now.

 

his phone buzzes, and it’s just a series of x’s from harry, stretching across his phone screen. with quick fingers he types back _asexuality is real ??_ just to make sure, just in case. harry’s response is almost and instantaneous _asexuality is real._ and it sits there, full stop and all.

 

breathing in, nick tries a smile. it feels okay. he takes the next caller with a laugh and a new joke and it’s okay. it’s _good._ his phone buzzes again but this time he leaves it in his pocket, and finishes the link grinning.

 

louis has sent a message too, and nick doesn’t know if he listens in or maybe harry said something, but none of that matters. nick’s going to burst with support, or something. undo at the seams as he reads the text over and over and over.

 

_you’re valid._

_your sexuality is valid._

  


(6:07 PM friday)

harry makes complicated sounding dishes with names that go on forever in a frilly half apron. his oven mitts are green and look like some sort of mix between a frog and a cacti and grins as he pulls his concoction out of the oven. it looks incredible, like harry’s spent hours on it and he puts the tray down on the marble countertop as louis waltzes in wearing track pants and an obnoxious beanie pulled down over his fringe.

 

“lou, you came to dinner!” harry says, lips pressing together in a wide eyed sort of grin and he empathetically looks over at nick like he’s going repeat himself and tell nick that louis is also over for dinner. nick can tell, he has got eyes. and clearly louis doesn’t, as he’s not matching the dress code in his stretched band shirt and dirty vans.

“said i would, didn’t i?” louis huffs, already searching through the fridge and triumphantly pulling out a beer a minute or so later.

 

“is there duct tape on your shoes?” nick asks, mostly out of habit he sounds vaguely haughty and doesn’t miss louis’ blink and you miss it grin.

“lucky it’s not over your mouth grimshaw,” louis replies lazily, any heat in the words lost between gulps of his beer and handing one over to nick.

 

“do you always have to bicker?” harry pulls more trays out of the oven, mostly roast vegetables and puts another back in, setting the timer.

“yes,” louis shrugs, looking over at nick as he pulls three plates out of the cupboard.

“yeah,” nick agrees, opening up the cutlery drawer.

 

and if nick was honest, he was expecting a whole host of people for dinner at harry’s. there’s certainly enough food to feed a starved hoard, at least. he hadn’t really expected the elbow knocking coziness of louis and his sweats and harry’s suit shirts that need a good iron. maybe he would have worn track pants and let his hair roll down his forehead, rather than feeling too formal. louis doesn’t even use half his cutlery.

 

he almost expects another intervention talk. one where harry pulls out a folder of Asexuality Facts TM and empathetically waves his hands around. it feels like it should be. just him and harry who smiles like he’s sharing a secret and louis who understands. but harry talks about the food he cooked and louis shovels it down and they watch an action movie with too many explosions and not enough realistic response to injuries.

 

harry falls asleep halfway through and louis sticks his toes into nick’s thigh. his grin when nick tries to push his feet away feels like a secret and a promise and the word _normal_ all in one.

  


(4:03 AM saturday)

even when nick squeezes his eyes shut and tells his brain not to think, it reveals on the irony of how sleepy he’d been until his head had hit his pillow. it’s like the motion has hit some sort of worry button, and every question that plagues him like whispered words in hidden in the crook of his elbows demands attention. nervousness stews in the pit of his stomach, a bubbling sense of worry keeping him up even as he tells himself to sleep.

 

he’d read, over and over, the asexuality fact sheets harry had sent links too. he’d written out definitions and words and stared at glossaries and everything is just swimming around in his head, a little lost. he can’t seem to make connections, link the pieces of information together and when he does he finds himself reeling, not sure where _he_ fits in all of this.

 

or how. and the questions pile up, settling in the spaces between his bones and along the hairs on the back of his neck. they’re restless, rattling around every time nick shifts, trying to make himself more comfortable.

 

his phone is on his bedside table. the cord for charging only reaches so far, but if nick moves up close to the edge of the bed he can still use it and leave it charging. he could just, maybe like look something up? or look over those fact sheets until they make sense. or somehow stop this bubbling of confusion inside himself. he doesn’t even realise he’s calling louis’ number until the phone is pressed desperately to his ear, cord taught and louis is mumbling a “yeah?”

 

“okay, but what _exactly_ is sexual attraction?” nick bursts, words hurried in the dark and skidding to a halt as they all try to escape out of him, searching for answers. there’s white noise for a minute, and then louis coughs, the sound of rustling sheets filling nick’s ears.

“what, no ‘thanks so much louis for picking up at ridiculous hours in the morning’ for me?” louis’ voice sounds groggy, like he’s probably sleep warm, “just cut to the chase grimshaw, don’t ya?”

 

“ah, ‘m sorry,” nick says, “thank you louis, thanks for picking up.”

 

“you’re welcome nicholas,” the tone of louis’ voice goes pleasant, like it’s not four in the morning and they’re having tea and biscuits and nick feels the way it settles the fizzing in his stomach, calming the nerves and questions desperate to pour out of him, “now, you want to know what sexual attraction is?”

“well,” nick starts, and really it feels too big. like he can’t encapsulate what he’s thinking, what’s slipping out of his grip, his understanding, “i get the definition and stuff, the whole viewing another person as someone you want to do sexual things with, i just? i don’t know. what is that?”

 

louis is silent on the line for several moment, the gentle huffs of his breath the only sound made. he sniffs, the sound rattling around inside nick’s head and he nearly misses it as louis talks again.

 

“it’s,” louis clears his throat, “i guess it’s what it says on the box really. but it’s hard, right like at first and everything, to try and separate sexual attraction from any other kind of attraction. ‘cause you’re, everyone’s so used to being told you’re _supposed_ to feel it. and so you think that’s what you’re feeling but it isn’t really.”

“i don’t think that’s helpful,” nick feels all stretched out and unsure.

“it’s good to know my wisdom is appreciated,” louis laughs, but his tone of voice goes serious once again, “i think the best way to try and determine it is to like, apply it?”

 

“apply it? i didn’t ring you up in the middle of the night to ask you about makeup tips lewis.” nick tries to joke but the words fall flat on his lips.

 

“no you dweeb, like look at someone you find attractive and ask yourself _why_ you find them attractive and what is your response to it is. question that.” louis’ voice is quiet, but determined,  “question all of it. apply it and question it. ask yourself what your response is to someone. work it for yourself, work through it for yourself.”

“like how?” nick feels like he’s just repeating questions over and over, “god, i feel so stupid asking all these questions about what everything means and how to do it but i feel so lost.”

 

“nah, i mean, it’s like why i’m answering the phone isn’t it?” louis chuckles, and there’s crinkling in the background, shifting of doonas and pillows.

“and here i thought you picked up because you wanted to have a scintillating conversation with me.” nick tries, and the joke feels flat until louis’ chuckles turns into a proper laugh.

 

“absolutely,” louis breathes.

 

nick’s heart does something completely, ridiculously cliché. it skips a beat.

 

“okay, so what you should try is,” louis continues, and if it wasn’t four in the morning and they weren’t on the phone, nick thinks his hands would probably be waving around, “imagine someone you have a crush on. anyone, just pick someone, okay?”

“okay,” nick says, and then, “oh, are we doing this now? i guess james franco.”

“you didn’t have to say anyone out loud, but nice.” louis laughs, barely pausing for a second before barrelling straight on, “do you want to have sex with him? not, do you think he’d like that or whatever, do _you_ nicholas whatever your middle name is grimshaw want to have sex with him?”

 

“peter,” the correction just sort of lips out of nick’s lips, unbidden.

“peter?” louis sounds confused, like maybe he’s not sure anymore who they’re talking about and nick’s pretty sure the scrabbling noises is louis shrugging.

“that’s my middle name, like it’s my dad’s name.” he explains.

“well, do you nicholas peter grimshaw?” and as louis says it, nick thinks somewhat sleepily that the way louis says his name sounds good.

“i don’t think so.” nick says, and he finds when he speaks the words it feels right.

 

“why do you find james franco attractive?” louis continues to question, and nick’s not sure if it’s a part of the whole thing or just now louis prying into nick’s life. it could easily be either.

“do i really have to tell you?” he asks, spacing the words out and louis snorts.

“well, no.” louis’ voice is mostly a scoffing sort of laugh, it sounds really fond, “but ask yourself the question anyway. list all the reasons you do, find out if any of them involve ‘i want to do sexual things to that person’.”

 

they settle into a camaraderie of a silence, phones pressed to ears and words lost. it feels comfortable, like this is normal or regular and louis’ presence, which is made known by the crumpling of blankets and soft breaths on the end of the line, is calming. nick’s prepared to stay on all night until he’s finding himself yawning.

 

“uhm, thanks louis.” nick says.

“yeah well whatever,” louis replies, and nick knows it means you’re welcome.

“good night,” and it feels a bit like one of those conversations that no one seems to want to end so everyone keeps saying ‘no you hang up,’ until there’s an intervention.

“not much chance of that now you’ve woken up isn’t there.” louis snorts, but he sounds pleased and nick barely hears the “good night nick.” before louis is hanging up.

 

“good night,” nick repeats, and he puts his phone back onto his bed side table.

  


(11:48 AM wednesday)

nick should have chosen somewhere with less… cutlery. or things that go clink in your hands when you can’t stop them from shaking with nervousness. a sandwich bar perhaps. sandwiches probably act like shock absorbers and any jittery movements would be lost against the grain of the bread and lettuce poking out the sides.

 

ian looks at nick over his fettuccine alla panna and offers nick more wine. more wine is definitely appreciated but if he finishes the bottle by himself he’s going to skip over the confession part and go straight to drunken ramblings.

 

“i think i might be asexual,” he blurts out as ian fills his glass, which wasn’t his best idea really. not for the wine, or the tablecloth, but ian to his credit, doesn’t even blink.

“okay.” he says and gives nick’s wine glass back.

 

and maybe ian’s easy acceptance and casual attitude to trying and understanding new things is why he’s sitting across nick instead of someone else, but even so nick was expecting more. a plant joke maybe. he’d read up on those. he knew how to deal with cloning jokes too, but that ian brand of acceptance was still a bit baffling.

 

“just okay?” nick can feel his voice skittering up a few octaves and ian smiles around taking a sip of his own wine glass in a ridiculously fond sort of way.

“well,” ian shrugs as he twirls the fettuccine on his fork, “i’m not sure what else you want me to say? i’m going to back you up no matter what you feel like your sexuality is and i thought ‘okay’ was a good filler as you eventually told me the entire story of self discovery.”

 

“what makes you think i’m going to tell you the entire story?” nick huffs, unoffended but he pouts as ian rolls his eyes.

“well, you don’t have too. it’s still okay.” ian says through a mouthful of his fettuccine and it’s vaguely disgusting but nick feels all fond and huggy.

“cuddle party at mine later,” he replies and looks down at his cooling grilled vegetable tower on his plate and wonders if he can get it reheated, “besides, there isn’t much of a story. harry just sort of told me about it and it sounded like he was describing me. i’m still, working things out.”

 

“okay,” ian says again, smiling and firmly nodding, “figuring things out is good. finding labels that make sense is good. i hope it’s helping.”

“yeah,” nick smiles, and he thinks he means it. words that fit and explain like this are world shaking, rattling preconceived ideas around until you’re all shaken up and confused. but they feel _good._ like this is meant to be, “i think it is.”

 

ian’s still grinning through his fettuccine as he nudges nick’s foot with his own. maybe, just maybe if it had been another time or moment nick would have made a joke about playing footsies. it feels comforting though, and nick smiles too. he’s glad he’s got ian. dependable, witty ian who sticks up for his friends and listens to them. nick might just need to embarrass ian on the radio again to show how much he appreciates all that.

 

“tell me about what asexuality means,” ian prompts, leaning all forward like he’s ready to make a quip about being all ears and nick sets down his cutlery with a grin.

“well,” nick begins, “being asexual just means that you don’t feel sexual attraction. or so rarely that it doesn’t really count.”

 

“okay,” ian nods, waving his fork at nick, “so you don’t feel sexual attraction. has that been always? i mean, you’ve always been partial to sexual innuendos about people you’ve described as attractive, and i’m not sure where that fits.” he talks carefully, like he’s balancing on stepping stones, hoping the next one isn’t a crocodile. “call me out if i say something wrong,” he adds.

“i,” nick starts and waves his own hands around to try and give meaning, “i always thought that’s what you’re supposed to because that’s what everyone does. i’m still working out if i just like doing that or not.”

 

“sorry if i ever made you feel like you had to be a certain way,” ian’s got a mouthful of alla panna again, and nick feels still ever so very fond. he might burst with fond.

“you wouldn’t have meant to,” nick waves it away. he feels lighter, better now he’s come out and ian had been ian and supportive. it feels good. nick’s ready to take on the world, buy a department store, skip work to go on a holiday, punch a man. maybe not the last one, but elated all the same.

 

“still fucks stuff up, even if no one means to do that.” ian shrugs.  

  


(9:43 PM thursday)

_i came out to ian._

 

nick stares at the words just waiting for the courage to send them. he’s not sure why he feels like it’s necessary to tell louis, but he wants to. he wants louis to be proud of him, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. closing his eyes he presses send.

 

_:)_

_did it go well?_

 

the reply is almost instant, two messages flashing up on nick’s phone quickly. it settles the nerves nick had barely noticed bubbling in his stomach.

 

_yeah. it’s ian. he’s so supportive._

 

nick doesn’t say about how it still had been terrifying. opening up, saying some new sexuality when he’d already been labelled as something else. even when it was ian, even though ian probably would never judge.

 

_that’s really cool!_

_proud of u_

 

louis’ words leave butterflies pooling in the pit of nick’s stomach. it’s embarrassing how happy he is knowing that. at least there’s no one around to see nick’s fond smile.

  


(6:27 PM monday)

nick opens the front door to louis and brown paper bag. he can’t remember inviting louis over, but the bottle of wine louis flashes out of the bag is expensive and well, nick had made an entire quiche. it was going to be spare for quick lunches, but louis and the wine are more important.

 

“harry said you liked red,” louis passes the bottle over, still wrapped in the bottle shop’s brown paper bag and toes his shoes off, making himself at home.

“i do,” nick replies, taking the wine with one hand whilst the other holds onto oven mitts and follows louis as he makes his way into the kitchen.

 

the quiche is burning, and nick swears. thrusting the bottle of wine back into louis’ hands he flings open the oven door, mitts over his hands and he picks the quiche dish up. louis lazily shuts the oven and reaches over for a cooling rack to place the quiche down. luckily, it’s only the edges that have burnt patches, the rest is still salvageable.

 

“are you going to make me eat charcoal?” louis sniffs, poking at the edge of a particularly bad burn on the crust and nick pokes him with the serving slide.

“i don’t remember making anything at all for you to eat.” nick says, but he cuts the burnt bits off and serves louis up some quiche first before getting out another plate and two wine glasses.

 

“fancy,” louis stabs the quiche with his fork, resting against the kitchen bench as he eats. nick wasn’t planning on eating the quiche standing up in the middle of his kitchen so he shoos louis out to the dining table, red wine in his spare hand.

 

nick drops the oven mitts and picks up his own plate, balancing the two wine glasses from the cupboard between his long fingers. louis has opened the wine, so he fills the glasses up the second nick places them on the table and drinks it like he’s sculling the last of his beer. nick barely refrains from making a joke about how louis probably learnt to eat from wolves as he practically shovels the food in his mouth.

 

“i spent hours baking that,” nick raises his eyebrows at louis’ ravenous eating.

“well i’m not going to spend hours eating it,” louis mumbles through a mouthful, fork ready with another mouthful as he swallows.

 

louis finishes the quiche in record time, going back for seconds as nick’s barely halfway through his and his glass of wine. happily, louis tops up their glasses and tucks in, crust perfectly cut so all the burnt parts have been scraped off. he takes the wine bottle and glass to the lounge to sit in front of the telly when he’s done, yelling about how he’ll do the dishes later.

 

nick puts the plates in the dishwater, dropping crumbs all over the floor and pretends they don’t exist as he steps over them. louis is taking up half the couch, so nick proceeds to take up the rest until louis is huffing and complaining about long limbs and bossy hosts. he flicks over the great british bake off to the encore screening of some football match from the weekend and then promptly gets out his phone and pays no attention.

 

nick wrestles the remote away, plucking out of louis’ reach and turns the telly to something more sensible and settles in with his glass of wine. dozing as he watches the television with a warm louis pressed to his side sounds _nice._

 

the low murmur of the telly, the press of louis and the warmth of his wine makes the lack of spoken word seem like a heavy silence. nick feels questions spring unbidden to his lips.

 

“how do you deal with it?” nick mumbles, lips pressed against the rim of his wine glass. louis looks up from his phone, blinking.

“deal with what?” louis’ eyebrows dip close together, like they’re coming in for a kiss.

“with being a pop sensation,” nick flings a hand in the air to help explain his point, “with people sexualising you left, right and centre. if it’s not for them, it’s for people close to you. how do you deal with people making you into a sexual being when that doesn’t feel right for you?”

 

“non-asexual is fine,” louis says. “you can say non-asexual.”

 

“interviewers ask you questions all the time about sex and romance, and people talk about you like an object and the sexualisation of you doesn’t end inside people’s heads.” nick feels light headed and bubbly. he feels a little lost and more than a bit confused,  “it gets written down and shared, and whilst that’s someone else’s fantasy, does it ever get to you that people are viewing you as non-asexual when you’re not.”

 

“at first, i was really indifferent to it, y’know?” louis hums, putting away his phone and looking over to nick properly, “because i didn’t want people to know it affected me. i didn’t _want_ it to affect me because no one else had an issue? and then i was angry. you feel like a object when people say what they want about you regardless of what you think or feel, even if you tell them. but now i’m okay with it. because this allosexual version of me is not a reflection of me. he’s just someone’s fantasy with my likeness and my name. it gets hard sometimes, because it feels a little like people are trying to take away my identity. but they don’t know, and fantasy louis is helpful to others. it’s easier for me because i fall more on the gray-ace side of the spectrum, so it’s easier to rationalise for me, at least.”

 

nick takes several large sips of his wine, mulling louis’ words over as he lets the liquid wet his lips. they sit right, but nick might need to experience this for himself. it doesn’t sound pleasant.

 

“i let other people i know sexualise me directly.” nick feels like it’s important to say.

“i did too.” louis nods, “it felt like the right thing. i don’t think it really changes the outcome, you know? people are still going to. it’s okay though. you’re not any less asexual because you once said it was okay. your agency is still _your_ agency, whether you’re saying yes or no, whenever you’re saying it.”

 

“i had sex with people even though i wasn’t really sure i wanted to.” everything feels heavy, maybe nick’s had too much wine, maybe he doesn’t know how to handle this. any of it, his hands are shaking and louis takes his glass away and hovers like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to comfort nick, “i said yes. i consented.”

“you did what you thought you should have, or needed to do in your situation and that’s very brave of you.” louis says, and his hands are shaking too, not like nick’s but his lips are pursed, “saying yes when you felt like you had no other option doesn’t mean you don’t get to decide if you were a victim.”

 

“it’s so messy.” nick struggles the words out, doesn’t know how they got to louis showing up unannounced for dinner to now and he’s not sure how to explain anything. he doesn’t even know what to do or think or feel. he never even thought no was actually an option, not like yes is.

“it doesn’t matter how messy it is, you own your experiences and you get to define them. not all bad things are done by bad people,” louis says, and nick looks up from where his hands are shaking against his thighs, “not everything is clear cut.”

 

it feels like all the words and explanations are choking up nick’s throat. he wants to say it wasn’t their fault, he said yes, but he never really knew that no was an actual option. never ever knew it was okay if he didn’t want to ever. you’ll meet the right person, everyone had said, you’re just not ready, you will be eventually.

 

“my first time was with some incredible woman i met at a music festival i had saved up all summer for,” louis continues, eyebrows still pressed together as he hovers, watching carefully, “i thought i wanted to have sex because that’s what you’re supposed to want. even in abstinence-only brochures it always starts with a ‘everyone has sexual urges’.  i thought she was beautiful, long legs and strong arms and the line of her throat when she laughed left nervous butterflies in my stomach. i thought that’s what sexual attraction was, i didn’t know about aesthetic or sensual attraction.”

 

“and you didn’t know no was an option?” the words feel hard, scraping up nick’s throat as he says them. louis nods, concern lining the wrinkles of his frown.

“i didn’t think it was,” louis agrees, “and it’s hard to comprehend sometimes because i said yes, and she didn’t press me when i was hungover, she was so kind and caring. she’s an amazing person, she’s not at fault but that doesn’t mean i don’t get to be angry at compulsory sexuality. it doesn’t mean i don’t get to call my experiences what i want to, just because i said yes.”

 

“what do you call it then?” nick can’t stop asking questions, doesn’t know how.

“most of the time, i feel like a victim of society and it’s standards.” louis’ voice wobbles, just a little and nick decides to buy him a gift basket or something. it’s not entirely fair of him to be asking all of louis’ experiences just because he can’t understand his own. it’s personal, “but other times, it was still my agency that decided to some degree and even though i didn’t understand all the options i want to own my actions. everyone makes mistakes. that’s okay. it’s totally okay.”

 

“i don’t know,” nick says, reaching out for louis’ hand and he grips on tightly, “i don’t know what to think or how to feel or anything really.”

“that’s okay.” louis still looks like he’s hovering, even though his hands are strong and grounding within nick’s, squeezing gently.

“you’re so kind, you know? you try and act prickly and rude, but you’re so kind.” nick mumbles.

 

“how much wine did you drink, you lightweight?” louis teases, squeezing nick’s hands again.

“i’m serious.” nick says, “you keep telling me all these things and sharing all your experiences just because i’m so confused about mine. do you give yourself up for everyone?”

 

“not just anyone,” louis says, and then he laughs, “harry’d kill me if i wasn’t helping you out.”

“you’re the worst,” nick pulls out a fantastically done fake pout and louis laughs even harder.

“can i hug you?” louis breathes, and nick’s engulfed in a strong, warm cuddle when he nods.  

  


(11:52  PM friday)

the same episode of keeping up with the kardashians has been playing on repeat for the last two or so hours, remote other side of the couch. nick would get it, but he’s comfortable folded up with his glasses and the bound print out of every single piece of information harry had found on asexuality. he’d presented it to nick with a smile earlier in the week, holding it out like a trophy.

 

nick had forgotten about it. he’d dropped a newspaper down, atop it on the dining table and there it had stayed until nick had been cleaning. it was lucky really, because harry was sure to ask him about what he thought at lunch tomorrow.

 

it’s, a lot. a lot of information and repetition and new words. a lot to take in.

 

nick’s not really sure he’s comprehending all of this. he still feels overwhelmed even though it’s been weeks. but the bound copy of fact sheets is heavy in his hands, harry’s beaming face and louis’ calm demeanour feel like some sort of prop, holding nick up.

 

with a highlighter scrounged from the back of a drawer and a chewed pen nick makes scribbly little notes in the margins and scratches yellow over points he finds important.

  


(12:02 PM saturday)

harry’s peeling a mandarin, feet up on the seat when nick walks in. the lunch bar is a hole in the wall really, the sort of gritty place nick hasn’t frequented in years. the crookery seems mismatched, but no one seems bothered with harry styles in holey jeans eating a mandarin, so nick supposes that’s a plus.

 

“want a piece?” harry holds out a several pip-filled segments, the juice dripping down his fingers and it feels so utterly _harry_ that nick happily plucks the mandarin out his fingers as he sits down.

“where did you get this?” nick’s only a little bit afraid to ask, but harry nods over at a bored looking staff member manning the till.

“got a fruit bowl at the counter,” harry shrugs, “i recommend the turkey breast and cranberry turkish bread. although the smoked salmon open sandwich is also good.”

 

“is that a tongue twister?” nick laughs, but orders the smoked salmon open sandwich anyway as harry enthusiastically asks for extra double avocado.

“did you read the booklet?” he asks, like the bound set of pages he’d dumped onto nick was a few sheets at best. nick supposes at least he didn’t burst right into that question the second nick arrived like louis would have.

“i had a look,” nick muses over bubbly water, “there’s a lot.”

 

“cool,” harry says, grinning from ear to ear, “anything you wanted to talk about? or ask?”

“what is this? therapy?” nick teases, waving his cutlery at harry, “do you want to talk about our _feelings_ now or?”

“i’m serious!” harry laughs, accepting his ridiculous looking sandwich with a smile at the waiter.

 

“i -,” nick looks down at his own plate when it arrives, “i came across the term ‘romantic orientation’ and i guess that means i can kind of still say i’m gay.”

“of course you can.” harry smiles. nick’s never met a more agreeable person. “romantic orientation is like, who you’re attracted to romantically. obviously. so like, the same prefixes apply, just in front of romantic now.”

 

“are you just paraphrasing the notes you expected me to read?” nick’s not sure how to eat an open sandwich so he cuts it up into manageable pieces. the salmon is good.

“there’s a possibility that you’ll pay attention if i say it.”

“rude,” nick snorts, levelling a fake frown at harry until harry’s laughing.

 

the laughter trails off, settling into a warm, friendly silence only broken by the clink of nick’s fork against his plate and lettuce falling out of harry’s sandwich with a wet thump. it’s nice and the sandwiches are nice even if the place is a dump. harry pops his sandwich back to his plate and looks at nick expectantly.

 

“louis’ panromantic,” harry says with a wide grin, like nick wanted to know.

 

(nick actually did. but harry doesn’t need to know that.)

 

“okay,” nick barely refrains from making a clever quip about pans. louis would hit him for it, but harry might just let him get away with it.   

“it’s really cool that you’re sorting of all this stuff out for yourself,” only harry could sound so earnest calling nick’s sexuality crisis ‘stuff’, so he doesn’t laugh, “i’m really proud of you and happy for you.”

 

and of course harry is. nick wouldn’t want his friend any other way.

  
  


(2:26 PM thursday)

“what the fuck,” louis says.

 

he’s in nice clothes, expensive black jeans and a simple shirt with a pressed collar, tie undone around his neck and hair still wet. he looks rushed and out of breath. nick doesn’t know how he got into nick’s house.

 

“how did you get into my house?” nick asks and louis has the audacity to scoff at him. it starts as scorn filled cough and then falls right into a sarcastic, harsh laugh.

 

“i read the article,” he replies, and nick’s heart sinks.

 

“louis i -” nick begins but louis stamps his foot, which really should seem immature and childish but it has nick clamming up pretty quick.

“i don’t care right now.” louis lips are a thin, harsh line, “i’m so mad at you. how could you? how could you just throw everyone under the bus with someone as stupid and incorrect as that? have you even listened to what harry and i have been saying?”

 

“i panicked, i didn’t mean to say it.” nick looks everywhere but louis, eyes darting around the room, unable to find a place to rest. he feels sick, his stomach bubbling with nervous energy. louis looks furious, his eyes wild and flashing, and it’s vaguely terrifying.

“yeah, well that makes everything better doesn’t it?” louis drags the words out through his teeth, “i didn’t mean to insinuate that asexuality is messed up, but yeah i wasn’t even talking about sexual attraction, we were discussing romantic attraction and thereby associated aromanticism as asexuality. which is completely _wrong_ and whatever the case i still called it weird, so in the end i’m still saying that it’s fucked up to be those things, but i didn’t _mean_ to so everything’s all good right?”

 

“i didn’t -” nick starts but he doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure he can explain it.

“here, let me quote you,” louis pulls out his phone, brandishing it like it’s a sword and reads loudly at nick, voice montone. “ _because, this year i thought i’d like to go out with someone. it would be nice, wouldn’t it, to have someone round your house all the time who bought you stuff? i’m not a weird asexual or anything.”_

 

louis’ glare burns. it’s so harsh that nick flinches away instinctively. but it softens as he’s staring at nick, and it takes nick a few seconds to realise it’s because there’s these high pitched keening noises coming out of his lips. they sound unreal almost, like a person couldn’t possibly make them and louis’ glare drops away, hands reaching out.

 

he hovers, like he always seems too, ready to swoop in but unable to make contact. nick knows his hands are shaking, if only because he can hear the rattle of his keys. they keep doing that, when he can’t seem to take everything in and louis keeps hovering, like he’s afraid maybe nick’s going to break. nick’s not glass, but he’s not diamond either.

 

“do you want, is it okay if i hug you?” louis asks, his hovering worse as his frown deepens, like surveying nick’s face is distressing. maybe nick’s gone all pale.

“why do you always ask?” nick blinks, trying to put his keys back into his pocket with still shaking hands.

“i’d never want to touch anyone who didn’t want it,” louis shrugs, and it feels like he’s trying to play it off, but he’s maybe never been more serious.

 

“yeah, okay. you can hug me,” nick’s crushed in the embrace of louis’ arms, holding on for dear life. really, nick’s not sure who he’s trying to comfort. he’s not even sure who needs to the comfort. everything’s still upside down and topsy turvy.

 

“i’m sorry,” louis says, voice muffled in nick’s shirt. “i’m still angry, because that’s a really fucked up thing to say on so many levels but i understand, i think. or at least, i can rationalise the issue and whilst i’m very angry at you, i am also equally angry at this society.”

“i didn’t mean to,” nick repeats himself, and thinks back to the interview and interviewer and her sweet perfume and soft smile. everything had felt like it needed to be perfectly normal, “i don’t know what happened i just. it all came out and i don’t know.”

 

louis’ hands are balled into fists in nick’s shirt, pulling the material out of place. he’s hugging with all his might, crumpling all of nick’s walls and misleading words underneath it all. it’s really not fair that someone’s just allowed to come in and open nick’s eyes like this, even if it makes the world seem to spin out from under nick’s feet.

 

“you’re a dickhead,” louis concedes.

“but?” nick leans back, looking down at the top of louis’ head.

“no buts.” louis’ shoulders wiggle in a half hearted shrug, “you’re a dickhead.”

 

“i guess i deserve that,” nick says and louis somehow manages to kick his shin.

  


(7:49 PM tuesday)

nick brings chinese take-out to louis’ because he knows louis won’t cook. louis seems to be contemplating ringing for pizza when nick arrives, and happily takes the offering of sweet and sour pork. all is probably not forgiven, but with food in his belly and beer on the coffee table louis manages to leave a small space on the couch for nick.

 

“we’re watching the game i missed,” louis announces, making a fuss of pressing the buttons on the remote and nick rolls his eyes. for someone who puts any football game on whenever he can find one, he’s very good at not watching them.

“they’re so boring you’ll end up talking to me anyway,” nick barely has time to duck as louis throws the cheap plastic chopsticks that came with the takeaway at nick.

  


“you’re ridiculous,” louis says, and for a moment, just one beat of nick’s heart he looks at nick like he’s about to kiss him, but then nick’s blinking and questioning if he really saw that at all.

 

“not boring though,” nick replies.

“no,” louis agrees, “definitely anything but boring.”

**Author's Note:**

> for some further reading for asexuality and asexual spectrum try any of the following:
> 
>   * [anagnori's tag](http://anagnori.tumblr.com/tagged/asexuality) (i find this a wealth of knowledge)
>   * [asexual agenda](https://asexualagenda.wordpress.com/) (has lots of resources)
>   * the [gray-asexuality tumblr]()
>   * here is a list of [other asexual blogs](http://gray-asexuality.tumblr.com/tagged/people-to-follow)
>   * there is [AVEN](http://www.asexuality.org/home/) (please be careful in the forums, in my experience they're not very safe.)
> 

> 
> if you have any questions or would like more information on asexuality, please drop a comment or come talk to me via [tumblr.](http://thorstons.tumblr.com/asks)


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